


Paper Flowers and Double Standards

by koalathebear



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny tag to the end of the episode 110 Sleight of Hand. Spoilers and dialogue for that episode although to be honest, you probably don't even need to have watched the series to follow the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Flowers and Double Standards

Sucre's always bemused by it, watching intently with slightly slack-jawed perplexity.

Michael tends to ignore his cellie's gaze as he sits crossed-legged on his bed, face completely still and intent as his long fingers move across the paper. Fold, crease, smooth, tear with painstaking and mathematical precision.

"Do chicks dig that origami shit?" Sucre once asked sceptically. He personally doubts it, assuming that the chicks are more attracted to Michael's pretty face rather than the small white paper birds he's always making.

"Origami is a perfect balance between mathematical exactitude and creativity - precision and beauty all in one." Michael told him without looking up. "You've probably heard of studies conducted into the flat-foldability of paper?"

"No." Sucre told him, but his voice indicated that he wouldn't mind knowing. Sometimes sharing a cell with Michael Scofield is like taking a college course he never knew he signed up for. He assumes Michael does the origami as a form of therapy, defiantly creating beauty from within a place of ugliness. Sucre also finds it strangely calming. He likes watching an ordinary piece of paper become a small, graceful white paper bird that Michael tells him symbolises peace and hope. It's very Scofield that he is even able to imbue the objects he intends to use for a prison break with artistry.

Today, Michael is making something different. Sucre knows immediately that there's something different about Scofield on this day.

"No crane things this time?" he asks curiously, watching as Michael smoothes a deep crease across deep crimson paper. Michael doesn't answer, intent and filled with concentration even when making an object of such small simplicity. Today Michael is different. No matter-of-factness about him today. Something in his meticulousness betrays repressed joy - a word that Sucre does not usually associate with Michael Scofield.

When Michael finishes, Sucre finds himself grinning with delight.

"Hey it's a flower!" he says, ridiculously pleased at recognising the tiny blossom with its white stem and the red bud. "A flower that don't need water."

Michael's smiling his rare smile as he stares down at the flower and Sucre finds himself feeling curious. Michael's usual smile is taut and controlled, almost never reaching his wintery eyes but today's smile is soft and gentle. For once, his light grey green eyes are warm as he studies the paper folding in his hand.

Today he has not made a tool for their escape, he has created something that has no purpose except to be lovely.

Now and then, Michael has asked him to throw cranes down drains for him. There's never any explanation and Sucre has stopped asking. He'll never understand this enigmatic man. It's enough for Sucre that he believes in him.

"Take it you're not throwin' _that_ one down any drain," Sucre demands.

Michael doesn't reply but Sucre can see Michael's answer in the way he smiles down at the flower with still satisfaction.

***

Sara works silently. Her thoughts are clearly far away and her actions are brisk and efficient. Michael watches silently for a few minutes. The two of them are comfortable with the silences. He knows when to roll up his sleeve, he knows her little habits and routines. He can tell from her expression when she is about to speak and when she is troubled, just as she knows when he is withdrawing from her.

A flash of colour attracts Michael's gaze and he stares at Sara's birthday flowers that have been stuffed unceremoniously in the bin in the corner.

"You threw away your flowers." he observes.

"Well, like I said, they don’t last." Her tone does not invite him to continue the conversation.

"I don’t think they’re dead yet," he comments, noting the colour and life that remains in the discarded flowers.

"I don’t like getting attached to things if I know they won’t last," she says flatly.

"Why are you so cynical?" He knows how ironic this is coming from him.

 _"The man you're talking about died the moment I stepped inside these walls."_

He continues to struggle for his brother's freedom but he has largely surrendered any hopes in relation to his own future. He never even dares to think about the possibility of his own happiness - except when he's in this room. When he looks at Sara, he allows himself the dangerous luxury of hope.

Sara gives a small sigh so tiny that Michael only hears it because he notices everything about her. The sadness he feels in her makes him unhappy.

"Michael, I think there’s cynicism and then there’s realism."

"And there’s optimism. Hope. Faith."

Despite his own sense of bleakness, he means what he's saying. He never wants to see this gentle, vibrant young woman with her dark and earnest eyes lose hope. He has met many beautiful and sophisticated women in his life but none of them have ever made him ache and wish for more than can ever be possible.

"This coming from an 8-toed guy locked away in a penitentiary?" she asks him quizzically.

Michael smiles. Her likes her mouthiness and that spark of wicked amusement that flashes in her eyes. "Toes are overrated," he quips.

She gives him a look and he can see an almost smile before she looks down again. "Thank you for trying to make me smile. Not today," she tells him firmly and the quiet resignation returns to her.

"You never know," he tells her. He smiles at her even though the sadness is starting to make him ache. He wants to tell her that the man she mentioned didn't die after all. Instead he just says nothing and continues to watch her.

"We’re all set," she tells him calmly. This conversation is at an end.

Michael walks out, dropping the origami flower onto Sarah’s desk while her back is turned. He walks out of the examination room. He wants to linger outside the room and try to catch a glimpse of her face through the glass panel when she finds the flower. Instead, he keeps walking.

He wants to go back and watch her face. Instead he keeps walking. He knows she'll pick it up. He knows the faint, reluctant smile that will tug at the corner of her soft mouth before it becomes the full smile that he sees in his dreams. He never expected that Dr Sara Tancredi and her dark and serene eyes would become his talisman to do battle against the monsters.

He knows she's holding the flower in her hands, smiling down at it.

Hope and sorrow flicker simultaneously. Michael Scofield smiles and keeps walking.

**The End**


End file.
